Grey Ink
by Traxits
Summary: Alistair takes the plunge and lets Zevran ink him.


**Title**: Grey Ink  
**Author**: Traxits  
**Rating**: Teen.  
**Content Notes**: Sexual situations.  
**Word Count**: 1633  
**PC**: None.  
**Pairing**: Established Alistair/Zevran (specifically, established in "Shades of Grey").  
**Spoilers**: Possible end-game spoilers.  
**Summary**: Alistair takes the plunge and lets Zevran ink him.  
**Notes**: This is not necessarily a sequel to Shades of Grey (available on my profile), but it takes place in the same universe. If pressed, I would say that it is set post-Shades, but I suppose it could take place sometime after chapter eight and before chapter nine.

If you haven't read Shades of Grey, all you need to know is that it's set post-game, where Alistair and Zevran are rebuilding the Wardens at Soldier's Peak. Luthanuel is a recruit from Denerim who was one of the first newly Joined wardens.

**[[ ... One-Shot ... ]]**

"Would you sit still?" Zevran's voice was strained; his patience gone. Alistair had been testing it ever since the very first tattoo had been done for the new Wardens. Now, Alistair was leaning forward, sitting on the edge of the bed, shying away each time he felt the heat of Zevran's hands getting close to him. The elf was gritting his teeth, trying to keep from _shaking_ Alistair.

"I've changed my mind." The words came quickly, tumbling out of Alistair's mouth one right after the other, and the Warden was jumping up to his feet, out of reach from Zevran's hands. Zevran sighed, arching one eyebrow at Alistair. The needle was glinting in the light of the candles; it looked strangely innocuous, despite the fact that it was in _Zevran_'s hand.

"Changed your mind? You _asked_ me to do this!"

The entire situation was far more comical than it rightfully should have been, than Alistair had originally imagined it. Somehow, whenever he'd worked up the nerve to ask Zevran to tattoo him, he'd been thinking that it would be a serious process, one that wouldn't hurt nearly as much as Zevran had told him it would earlier. After all, Luthanuel had gotten one. He had only smiled and shrugged when Alistair asked him about the line of script circling his upper arm.

"Yes, well; it was foolish of me. I admit that."

Now, the Warden Commander was shirtless and running from an _elf_, circling around the room warily, trying to see if there was a way he could simply overpower Zevran and make for the door. It was a foolish notion, one that was discarded the moment it really came into his head. Zevran was not only faster than him, but if the Antivan managed to catch hold of any part of him, he would easily be twisted into some impossible position that would hold him until he yielded. Then Zevran could simply do whatever he liked. Alistair swallowed, his hazel eyes locked on the needle glittering in the light.

Zevran frowned a little, folding his arms over his bare chest as he studied the Warden. It was the third time Alistair had let him get this far- the needle barely an inch from his skin- before he bolted, and while he had thought it charming enough the first time, it was rapidly getting old. Alistair was getting his tattoo now, whether he thought he had changed his mind or not.

"Alistair." Zevran used his firmest voice, narrowing his eyes at Alistair as he did. The Warden jumped and returned the look guiltily, _knowing_ that he was in the wrong, knowing that he had pushed his luck too far this time. However, he didn't move. Zevran sighed and very carefully replaced the needle in its place in a little leather roll-up bag. Needles of various sizes and small vials of ink were in there, and he didn't want anything getting damaged. It would be a long time before he could get new ones.

He set the pouch to the side, out of the way, and as he turned, Alistair bolted, charging for the door. In one smooth motion, the elf had caught his right wrist and twisted him, slamming him into the floor, a narrow foot firm in Alistair's back even as Zevran pulled on the arm he had trapped. Alistair squealed aloud, his eyes closing in a combination of embarrassment- that squeal had to be heard across the keep- and ... something else. He was almost horrified to realize that even pinned the way he was, the feel of Zevran pressed against him was enough to cause all-too-familiar sparks to shoot across his nerves.

He gasped as Zevran pushed him into the stone floor, and his teeth gritted. It felt like his arm was about to simply pop right out of the joint that Zevran was straining. A moment, another good tug, that's all it would take-

"Yield!" The pressure eased, and Alistair drew a deep breath before muttering, "I yield, Zev. Really." Then the foot moved and Zevran rolled him over and pulled him to his feet. He shot the Antivan a dirty look. "Didn't have to be so rough."

"You _love _it." Zevran offered him a little grin, then pointed to the bed, that one eyebrow arched again. They must have made quite a sight; both stripped down to their trousers, Alistair red-faced and suffering from the imprint of the stone floor crossing his front while Zev's hair was beginning to escape from its neat little braids to fall loosely around his face. Alistair liked that best, when his hair did that. It made him softer, made him look more real and less ... posed. In any case, it made the Warden grateful that the door was locked.

Dutifully, he fell face-first onto the bed, where Zevran was pointing. After a few minutes of wriggling around, he decided he was comfortable, and he pulled one of the pillows under him, to give him something to muffle any screa- any noises he might make. He didn't want Zevran thinking he was completely useless after all. He felt the elf moving around, getting those damnable needles- why had Alistair even brought this up?- and then straddling his hips. He swallowed, burying his burning face into the pillow.

The feel of Zevran sitting back there, of _Zevran_ pressing up against him- _he could feel the elf's arousal_- it was almost enough to make him ask, to make him beg Zevran to forget about the tattoo and just-

There was the slightest pressure on his shoulder blade. He swallowed, and then there was an odd feeling, a pricking sensation. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Zevran was focused wholly on the man laying under him, doing his best to ignore the heat radiating from Alistair's back as he leaned so close in order to do his work. The vial was in one hand, the needle in the other, and his eyes were cutting between the expanse of skin under him and the shield that was propped up against the wall. He had to admit, his mouth was more than just a little dry as he did this.

"What are you doing?"

"Pricking you; now stay still." Zevran shifted his weight a little, forcing Alistair to remain exactly where he was. The last thing that the elf wanted was to have to improvise this tattoo, complicated as he found himself making it. He had practiced sketching the design a few times, trying to imagine what this would be like, having Alistair so trusting under him. Granted, he had imagined Alistair a little more trusting than what he'd ben shown this far. It was a little upsetting to think that Alistair trusted him to fight alongside him but not to tattoo him.

His gaze softened though as he felt the Warden tensing and forcing himself to breath deeply. It probably had not helped that he'd told Alistair that it hurt terribly, and while yes, some of them had hurt quite a bit, where Alistair was getting his was not a particularly sensitive location. It would be a series of pricking sensations, of stings, but not of _pain_. He worked slowly, taking his time, applying pressure to Alistair's spine whenever the Warden tried to squirm.

It was painstaking work, considering that he was being as careful as he could, referencing his source often. Alistair clearly wasn't appreciating just how delicate this work was either, as he kept shifting, kept-

Zevran's hand stilled as he considered their situation, as it dawned on him _why_ Alistair kept moving. A grin curved his lips then, and he moved the needle out of the way, securing it against his hand as he leaned down until his chest was flush against Alistair's bare back, his lips ghosting just over the back of Alistair's neck. He felt the Warden under him still, felt the sharp intake of breath, and Zevran made a very soft noise before he brushed his nose against the nape of the neck bared to him.

"Alistair?" His voice was low, barely a whisper against the soft skin.

"Y-yeah?" Alistair swallowed, and Zevran was pleased to feel the goosebumps beginning to ripple up the Warden's arms. A moment passed and the Antivan continued what he was doing, just barely touching, _teasing_. The tip of his tongue traced a small pattern, causing Alistair to shiver.

"Stop. Moving." He drew back then, ignoring the groan of disappointment from the Warden, returning his focus to the outline he was working on. His dark eyes narrowed, and he gently dabbed away the swirling mix of blood and black ink beginning to smear over Alistair's shoulder. It was an involved process, and by the time he finally drew back, he had finished the basic outline of the design. Alistair had long since stopped moving, finally content to simply let Zevran work. For a minute, Zevran simply sat back and looked, content at the pattern of the griffon so far. Regrettably, he was far from done. It would be another long night of work at least before he could proclaim this one finished.

He stood then, moving to clean the needle he'd used in a small bowl of water that he'd set out. Alistair stood, and Zevran shook the little vial of ink, trying to judge how much he had left exactly before he put everything away. He had just rolled the leather bundle back up when he felt the Warden behind him, pulling him close. His eyes closed at the feel of Alistair so flush against him. A heartbeat, and then the Warden's tongue was curling around the lobe of his ear, and Zevran was lost, just letting himself be swept away in the rhythm of Alistair's passion.


End file.
